


A Simple Twist Of Fate

by TheAwesomeWriter



Series: Orphan Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived, wrong bwl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9696995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwesomeWriter/pseuds/TheAwesomeWriter
Summary: Ten years ago the Dark Lord Voldemort met his match in the form of a young boy. Now that young boy is heading to Hogwarts, and life will never be the same.





	1. Morningside Orphanage

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to J.K. Rowling. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

 **Rating:** _Teen._

 **Pairings:** _TBR_

 **Genre:** _Fantasy/Adventure_

 **Warnings:** _None yet._

 **Story Summary:** _Ten years ago the Dark Lord Voldemort met his match in the form of a young boy. Now that young boy is heading to Hogwarts, and life will never be the same._

 **Thank You:** _Thank you to xXxKaraBeckerCutterxXx for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!_

* * *

**Chapter I: Morningside Orphanage**

* * *

If you are looking for a happy story, with dancing, frolicking, joyful, banana eating monkeys, this is not the story for you -- in fact, I do not believe that  _any_ story has that in it. If you _are_ looking for _that_ , you should probably visit Twycross Zoo.  _This_ particular story - the story of young Harry Potter - is not a happy story; it has no dancing, frolicking, joyful, banana eating monkeys in it. There is not a happy beginning to this story, not many happy things in the middle, and certainly not a happy ending.

For that reason, I implore you, for your sake dear reader, to turn away now and not read this calamitous story. Calamitous is a word which, here, means involving calamity; catastrophic or disastrous. For example -- the consequences of your decision to read this story will probably be calamitous.

You can still, if you wish, look away. It is not too late for you. For I, though? I am not so fortunate -- it is my sad duty to report the life of Harry Potter as I am aware it went down. Of course, when I began looking into the young man's life it was many years ago, many sleepless nights ago, many agonising headaches ago.

I have suffered through these headaches to bring you the story of Harry James Potter. This sad, calamitous story begins many years ago, on a dark, blustery and wet morning in November 1981.

*******

The morning on November 1st, 1981, was, as I have previously informed you just mere moments ago, dark, blustery and wet. Rain poured down onto the cobbles and tarmacked road in torrential sheets of water, splattering the ground, soaking the plants and drowning the grass as a mysterious woman, red haired and emerald eyed, appeared with a quiet pop into the forest nearby.

While she could not ever possibly know it at this point, I can reveal to you, dear readers, that this forest would later play an important role in the life of young Harry Potter - though, for him at least, it would not be for many years to come.

The woman mentioned prior, Lily Potter, was clad in an ankle length brown robe and heels, and strode purposefully down the street with a bundle of blankets in her arms. Inside the bundle of blankets, as you have probably worked out, is young Harry James Potter. Emerald eyed - exactly the same shape, size and shade as his mother's - lightning scarred, with hair as black as the night and looking incredibly like a bird's nest, he stared up at his mother, barely comprehending - which here means understanding - what was occurring, except for the fact that he was getting wet.

Lily Potter adjusted her son's positioning, protecting him from the rain as he mewled in her arms, and stopped at the stairs to a building. She glanced up at the archway with trepidation - which here means a feeling of fear or anxiety about something that may happen - and saw the words _MORNINGSIDE ORPHANAGE_ plastered across the brown arch in slightly peeling green letters.

The five steps up to the door were just as soaked in rain as the rest of the road, cobbles and grass in the forest, and she had to tightly grasp the railing on the side of the steps to stop herself from slipping over. As she stepped under the arch, she pulled out her wand, summoned a box and placed her child gently into it, tucking him in tightly, slipping a letter in next to him and casting a warming charm on him.

While I do not agree that giving up a child, for any reason, is a good thing, occasionally it has to be done. This is, unfortunately for both mother and son, one of these occasional circumstances that require the separation to occur.

Raising her hand to knock on the door she stopped as her son mewled in the box. Lifting him into her arms, she held him up in front of her and kissed his face, the identical green eyes staring up at her.

"I love you," she said, holding him close, clutching him in her gasp, for what she thought would be the last time -- however incorrect she was in that thought. "My sweeting. This is my chance, my own private chance, to say goodbye to you, my baby. Because you were my baby, you know? And you always will be. Always... my beauty, my baby. Now, Mama has to go." She lowered him back down into the box in front of the doorway and then blew him a kiss. "Be safe, my sweeting, be strong."

Wrenching herself away from her baby, she raised a hand and thumped hard on the door, racing away through the rain, cloak streaking behind her. As she reached the end of the street, she saw her son roll over, magically shifting his blankets to tuck himself in tighter, and smiled sadly. Though she did not know it, could not know it, this was not the final separation she thought it was - one day she would see her son again.

As the door to the orphanage opened ever so slightly, just enough for a pair of dark eyes rimmed with glasses to stare out, she whirled on the spot and vanished with a pop.

Mabel Morningside stared into the darkness, the porch and steps illuminated by the light of the hallway behind her, the chain dangling under her pointed chin. Seeing no-one there, she went to shut the door, then stopped and glanced downwards at the tiny wail from beneath her.

What she saw made her hand fly to her mouth and she almost ripped the door off of its hinges as she unlaced the chain and stepped out onto the porch. Scooping the baby up into her arms, she held him close and scrambled down the steps, staring off into the darkness in an attempt to find the parent of the child.

To no avail.

The street was empty and if there _was_ anyone there -- there was, in case you are wondering; _I_ was there, sat on a nearby bench, watching these events occur, getting terribly wet, though Mabel Morningside would never learn this fact -- they were too deeply cloaked in the darkness for her to see. The baby in her arms wailed again, rain splattering down on to his forehead in thick droplets, and she shifted him in her arms and took him inside, scooping the letter up out of the box as she threw the box into the rubbish bin.

*******

What occurred in the childhood of young Harry Potter is, to me, unknown. I know, from many contacts throughout London that many people tried to adopt him but were never successful. And I know that young Harry Potter inflated a fellow orphan in a fit of rage -- something that was, according to the local muggle newspapers, written off as the boy's allergies.

Anything else that happened, however, I do not know -- apart from the fact that Harry Potter grew up to a be a healthy, if small and not exactly happy, child.

*******

Many of you will know the feeling of dread and worry as you stand outside an adult's office after being summoned, that feeling in your stomach that feels like butterflies and makes you want to vomit. That is the feeling that eleven year old Harry Potter felt as he entered Mabel Morningside's office on the morning of his eleventh birthday.

While I hope whatever punishment you received from entering said adult's office was not too severe, unless you deserved a severe punishment of course, in which case I hope the punishment was extremely severe, Harry Potter found the strangest sight he'd ever seen at his ten years at Morningside Orphanage.

Dressed in incredibly bright red robes, a tall thin man with silver hair and beard, both so long that they could be tucked into his belt, was sat behind Mabel Morningside's desk. His nose was long and, judging by the shape of it, had been broken several times -- I never bothered to ask him, myself, so I cannot tell you if it has or hasn't -- and his eyes, a brilliant soul-piercing blue and twinkling with both kindness and mischief, were not focused on him, for the man was picking apart two sweets -- lemon drops for any of you wondering -- with two skilful fingers and he was focusing intently on them to determine which one would be the most delicious in flavour.

When he _did_ notice Harry, he smiled. His demeanour, to Harry at least, seemed serene and ethereal and when he spoke: "Hello, Mr Potter", he spoke in a calm pleasant voice. Anyone who has met Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore knows that Harry's assessment of this man is entirely correct.

Harry may have been raised as an orphan, but not as a common urchin. "Hello, Sir," he greeted, smiling.

"Professor," corrected the man, finally separating the two sweets and holding up each one to examine it, attempting to see which one would be the better of the two to eat. "Or Professor Dumbledore, Harry."

"Yes, Professor Dumb-- hey, _how do you know who I am?"_

"I know your parents," replied Professor Dumbledore, swallowing a distinctly yellow sweet before speaking and ignoring Harry's impoliteness. "And your name has been down on our register since you were born."

"Your register?" asked Harry, frowning; then, Professor Dumbledore’s words hit him like a tonne of bricks. " _My parents?_ "

"Oh, forgive me, of course, you wouldn't know." Smiling, Professor Dumbledore reached a thin hand into his robes and pulled out a letter, which he slid across the desk to Harry. "Open it."

Harry flicked open the letter and scanned the page. "Dear Mr Potter," he read, frowning at the letter in his hand. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..."

"So..." interrupted Professor Dumbledore. " _Will_ you be joining us?"

Many of us in this situation would, I am sure, act with shock, disbelief and confusion. Harry Potter, I am quite pleased to tell you, did not, for this explained a lot of the oddities of his childhood and made a great deal of sense to him.

"Do I have a choice?" asked Harry, glancing up at him with a frown. "If I say no, will you knock me out and abduct me or something?"

"Certainly not," replied Professor Dumbledore, smiling. "We would never harm a student -- we'd merely erase your memory and make you, and anyone else concerned, forget the wizarding world for good. You would not know about us until your child showed signs of magic and their choice to attend Hogwarts or not arrived."

"For the record, Professor," began Harry, meeting Professor Dumbledore's eyes. "I _will_ be attending. But how do I know that you are not joking?"

Professor Dumbledore blinked at Harry for a moment and then, in the corner of the room, the wardrobe exploded into flames and then put itself out again. "Is that proof enough, Mr Potter?"

"Y-Yes, Professor," said Harry. He scanned the letter again. "How do I get all these things? I don't know of anywhere in London that sells wands or black pointy hats."

Not many people do for that matter -- only the parents of the students of Hogwarts are aware of it -- so the question from Harry was a question that I am sure most of us would ask. If you don't, then you are either cocky, deluded at the size of London, or from a magical family yourself.

"I'll be sending someone along tomorrow morning to take you to Diagon Alley," said Professor Dumbledore. "He's in London to buy more Slug repellent for our Giant Pumpkins."

"R-Right," said Harry. "Would you, uh -- would you like me to show you out, Professor?"

"No need, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "Hagrid will be arriving sharply at seven o'clock tomorrow morning. I, on the other hand, will see you at school. Good day."

And, with a pop, he was gone, leaving Harry thinking that his eleventh birthday had not been like any other birthday he had ever had.

For many of us I am sure that the age of eleven is a strange time; we start a new school, start growing into the personalities we will have in our adult life, find our friends and enemies, our loves and hates, and so on and so forth -- but for Harry Potter, though he did not know it at the time, turning eleven would be the start of a long and torturous life for him.

A long and torturous life that it is my misfortune to document for all of you here.

* * *

Up next - Chapter Two: **"Diagon Alley" -** in which Harry meets Hagrid and goes shopping, obtains a rather unusual friend, develops a rivalry with Draco Malfoy and learns some of the truth as to why he was given up.


	2. Diagon Alley

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to J.K. Rowling. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

 **Rating:** _Teen._

 **Pairings:** _TBR_

 **Genre:** _Fantasy/Adventure_

 **Warnings:** _None yet._

 **Story Summary:** _Ten years ago the Dark Lord Voldemort met his match in the form of a young boy. Now that young boy is heading to Hogwarts, and life will never be the same._

 **Thank You:** _Thank you to xXxKaraBeckerCutterxXx for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!_

* * *

  **Chapter II:** **Diagon Alley**

* * *

Many of us, after receiving news that changes our lives, find that nothing and no-one can ruin the day, and nothing seems strange, so for Harry Potter, finding a giant on the doorstep of Morningside Orphanage was, most definitely, not the strangest thing he had seen since he turned eleven -- in fact, if anything, he was so happy that he felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside him and a giant just seemed normal now.

"You must be Harry," said the giant. He was roughly three times bigger than a human - in both height and width - and had a long mane of shaggy black hair and a beard that covered most of his face. His hands were as big as dustbin lids and his feet, clad in boots, were like baby dolphins. His pale skin shone from underneath his beard, he had dark eyes that glinted like black beetles and he wore a moleskin overcoat which looked to be more pockets than coat.

"I am, sir," he said.

"Sir?" questioned the giant, frowning, his beetle like eyes scrunching up as his nose did, sending a shake through his beard. "I'm no teacher, Harry, there's no need to call me Sir. Call me Hagrid."

"Yes, sir -- Sorry, I mean, Hagrid."

"That's beter. Are ya ready, Harry?"

The balloon in Harry's stomach seemed to explode in an instant as he realised something. "I am," he replied, smiling sadly. "But, uh, I don't have any money."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything even when they gave you up?"

"Well..."

"Nah," said Hagrid. "First stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank."

"Wizards have banks?"

To you, this may seem like a stupid question, but for wizards - and I - this is not stupid. Wizards, for all we know, could have enchanted their money to be invisible to everyone except themselves. Answering the question of banks gives us an insight, however small, into the world you are reading about and I am writing about, a world which seems much like ours at this current moment.

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Harry, who was now putting on his shoes, dropped them onto the faded tiled floor and gaped at Hagrid. "Goblins?"

"Yeah -- so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yah that. Never mess with goblins, Harry," said Hagrid, nodding assuredly. "Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe -- 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly, grinning happily. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you, getting things from Gringotts -- knows he can trust me, see. Got everythin'? Come on, then."

Harry followed Hagrid out into the street. There had been a storm overnight and, while the wet trees glistened in the sunlight streaming between the buildings, the sky was quite clear, the sun beating down on everyone below.

As they headed into London and passed Tottenham Court, Harry recognised a place that he had only ever seen on the old television of the orphanage: Charing Cross Road, a busy two way road in the centre of London. As they crossed and several people stopped at stared at Hagrid, Harry decided to pry more into the world he was apparently part of.

"So, why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked.

"Spells -- enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way -- Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harry sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet, on which pictures were moving; a portly wizard with a green bowler hat was waving to a crowd from a picture on the front page; he'd learned from adults that had adopted other children that people preferred to be left along when reading the paper, but he had more questions than he'd ever had in his life.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page, a frown on his enormous face.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job -- he's the bloke on the front page; a bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Why?" asked Hagrid, frowning back, as if the answer was obvious. "Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone. Safer and better for all that way; they can't come to rely on magic an' they can't blame us if things go wrong."

Many, if not all, of the people passing stared a lot at Hagrid as they turned into Charing Cross Lane - and that shows a lot about normal folk; the moment something odd occurs everyone stops and stares until everything is 'normal' again. I once saw a lion do a tap dance in a pit on a mountain owed by an old friend; to me it was exceptionally funny but to everyone else watching it was incredibly odd and they spent the entirety of the night trying to discover how to make the tap dancing lion become a 'normal' lion again. You can probably guess how the night ended?

One mother, baby in her stroller, took one look at Hagrid, gave an ear splintering shriek and raced away with the stroller, another walked right into a lamppost, and a third walked right into the road in front of a car. If he was completely honest, Harry couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Harry, panting a bit as he ran to keep up, "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?"

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid -- here we go. This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

Harry, taking note of Hagrid's wish for a dragon, hadn't even noticed they'd stopped in front of a tiny, grubby looking pub. In fact, if Hagrid hadn't said anything, he was sure he would have walked right past it; evidently, the people hurrying by didn't notice it as their eyes slid from the big book shop -- currently with _Tap Dancing For Moronically Imbecilic and Imbecilically Moronic People_ in the window -- on one side, to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all, and Harry had the most peculiar feeling that, indeed, he and Hagrid were the only ones able to see it, or, at least, the only ones on the street able too at that moment. Before he could ask Hagrid about it, the giant was steering him inside.

For an apparently famous place, it was very dark and shabby; a few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe, another was knitting what appeared to be a blanket in an alarmingly luminescent yellow, and a third was using a wand to make a cup of tea stir itself.

By the bar, a little man in a top hat was talking to the old bar tender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved a smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "the usual, Hagrid."

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle.

"Ah," said the bartender, peering at Harry and dragging out his word, "Muggleborn?"

"Orphanage," replied Harry, frowning between the two, evidently sensing it was a normal conversation that occurred every time Hagrid came in with someone young. "Never knew my parents."

The bartender nodded and put the glass back. "Maybe later then, Hagrid?" he asked, smiling. "Good luck, young man."

"Thanks," said Harry as Hagrid led him out the back of the pub and into a small, square courtyard behind where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds poking their way through the bricked floor. As Hagrid reached for the large pink umbrella at his side, a pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid, finally noticing the man in question. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"N-N-New s-s-student?" questioned Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it; he did, in fact, look very sick. He laughed nervously, looking, for a few tiny moments, very maniacal. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

"Must get on -- lots ter buy," said Hagrid, cutting into the conversation. "Come on, Harry."

"S-S-See you at H-H-Hogwarts, H-H-Harry," said Professor Quirrell, wringing his hands together as they left.

"Is he always that nervous?" questioned Harry.

"Oh, yeah," said Hagrid, frowning sadly. "Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first hand experience.... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag -- never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject now, where'd I put me umbrella?"

 _Vampires? Hags?_ Harry's head was swimming; he'd seen a few exceptionally wrinkly old ladies on occasion, normally when they used the hall next door to the orphanage, but he'd never considered any of them to be hags, even if old Mrs Brankstone was so wrinkly that a ghost would have re-died from fright if it had seen her. While Harry was pondering, Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up... two across," he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella and the brick he had touched quivered -- it wriggled -- in the middle, a small hole appeared -- it grew wider and wider -- a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, grinning at Harry's amazement, "to Diagon Alley."

They stepped through the archway; Harry looked quickly back over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall. A stack of cauldrons, stood outside the nearest shop, twinkled in the sun. _Cauldrons -- All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver -- Self-Stirring -- Collapsible_ , said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump red haired woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad...."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying _Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy_. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them, an exceptionally fat dark haired boy, say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand -- fastest ever --" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon....

"Gringotts," said Hagrid as they reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was -

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry, barely coming up to Harry's chin. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harry made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe."

"You have his key, Sir?" asked the goblin at the desk as he climbed up a stool, then onto a larger one, then onto the tallest one so that he could see over the top of the counter.

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers and the goblin wrinkled his nose in disgust. Harry watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely. "I see," he said, noticing the name and staring down at Harry with shrewd dark eyes, "that seems to be in order."

Now, for those of you wondering, Goblins are _not_ to be trusted with _anything_ but money - and, possibly, secrets. Even to this day I'm not sure -- for they are cunning and shrewd and, of course, tiny, so they're impossible to hit when you chase after them in revenge.

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised to find they were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in -- Hagrid with some difficulty -- and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

He did, indeed, look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze coins.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid, "Just a trust fund until you turn seventeen, but it's more than enough."

All Harry's -- it was incredible. _If only the families that wanted to adopt me had known of this_ , he thought, smiling as Hagrid helped him pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons," Hagrid explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook. Hagrid just groaned.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned again and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole. It did, however, have a massive black door with enormous spikes sticking out of it.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly and stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers, causing it to simply melt away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there."

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin and Harry, immediately, was no longer curious.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Harry was sure, and he leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least -- but at first he thought it was empty. Then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask with this particular package.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life -- more money than even the families that had planned to adopt him had had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a tiny, rather plump woman, barely taller than Harry and dressed entirely in a very flattering shade of pink.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here -- another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. "

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy in a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

From the boy's words, Harry was strongly reminded of some of the less well groomed orphans at the orphanage, the urchins that scrambled around in the dark of night thieving and pillaging and being a general nuisance.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do -- Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been -- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less every second -- even the urchins weren't this bad.

Your parents have probably told you that judging people by first appearances is wrong. In this case, they should be ignored, for Harry was most definitely correct in his judgement of this boy.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage -- lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"Orphan," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the other, evidently realising what that meant but not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin, possibly sensing danger, said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Harry lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed colour as you wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know -- not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin's.

"--and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in."

"Yer not from a Muggle family," said Hagrid. "Yer from a wizard family for thousands o'years. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles -- yer mum for example!"

"So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like -- like soccer in the Muggle world -- everyone follows Quidditch -- played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls -- sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but --"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff" said Harry gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. Every single evil wizard has, for the last three hundred years, been from Slytherin."

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even the urchins, who never read anything and were as dumb as molluscs, would have been wild to get their hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Countercurses _(Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue- Tying and Much, Much More)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse the urchins."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope that came, today only, free with a small eye patterned spy glass. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again.

"Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Harry felt himself go red.

"You don't have to --"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

"No need," said Harry, "I'll choose my own. I appreciate it - you can pay if you like. Yeah, definitely an owl though."

As he stepped into Eeylops Owl Emporium and left Hagrid outside, Harry saw an monumentally colossal boy of about eleven years of age standing on tip toes and reaching for an owl cage with an open door. As he stretched his shirt rode up further over his belly with each stretch, sticking tightly around the globular girth of his gargantuan gut. As his enormously fat hand grasped at the owl, it hooted and Harry saw what was going to happen before it did.

The owl, snowy and evidently the last one in the shop, bit down hard onto the fat hand. The boy yelped and recoiled in pain, clutching at his pudgy, bleeding hand. Fortunately for the now crying boy, his hand was free. Unfortunately for the boy, while he hand was free, in his flailing in pain he failed to notice the cat cage behind him and topped backwards over it, his weight pulling him down heavily, trousers splitting, button flying free. The cat in the cage yelped as the weight came down on it and the door burst open, the cat scrambling free.

The flying button bashed against a glass case and penetrated it like a bullet. Suddenly, as an enormously fat man and a skinny woman fawned over the large boy, the iguana inside the cage began squawking loudly.

"Can I help you?!" called the manager over the cacophony of noise.

"I don't know yet!" called Harry back, cupping his mouth to be heard, "I haven't decided!"

From a cage near the iguana, a large snake hissed. As black as a coal mine and as thick as a sewer pipe with green eyes it lifted its head up from its curled body, stared at the enormously fat boy wailing and crying for ice cream and then rolled its eyes.

"I know, right?" said Harry to it.

 _"Indeed,"_ it hissed, forked tongue wiggling. _"That boy isss in here every year for a new pet, and each time he isss fatter than the lassssst. It wouldn't sssurprissssse me if he popped one day. One good jab."_

"You're not popping him," Harry said sternly.

 _"I, regrettably, cannot,"_ said the snake, glancing over to the still wailing boy who was being kissed and fussed over by his mother, _"I am just a snake -- and I am large, but even I could not fit around him if I tried."_

 Harry snickered to himself and then glanced around as the enormous boy's equally enormous father fired a spell at the owl and began yelling at the manager. The snowy owl took off into the air at the sight of the spell and settled herself on top of Harry's head.

"How odd," said the manager, holding up a hand to silence the enormously fat man who was now red faced and gaping at being interrupted, "she has never taken to anyone like that before."

"She just takes a bit of understanding, don't you?" said Harry up to her. "No ruffling of the feathers, for example."

As the boy began shouting for ice cream again, his father moved to deal with him as the manager came over to Harry. "You want her?" he asked, gesturing to the owl.

"Please," said Harry, "and the black snake there too. What is it doing in the Owl Emporium anyway?"

"The Magical Menagerie is under going expansion, so I am housing some of them for Bellonna, until the expansion has finished. The poor girl was being driven mad - her parents left her in charge when they went on holiday and forgot to warn her about the repairs until she sent them an owl."

"Poor girl," said Harry, "I couldn't do it."

"Nor could I," agreed the manager, turning back to the desk. "Now, would you like to pay?"

"Yes, please," said Harry.

Twenty minutes later, Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing, and a snake resting over his shoulders. He couldn't stop stammering his thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents at the Orphanage -- and they don' cost much. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._ A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man, tall and skinny with grey hair, was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's... Hmmm..." Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do...."

"I'm unaware of my family's past," said Harry, frowning sadly. "I don't even know my parents."

Mr Ollivander shook his head and then, much to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again.... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er -- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now -- Mr Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er -- well, I'm right-handed," said Harry. "I tried writing with my left hand once and blew a hole in the Orphanage wall because I was so angry that I couldn't."

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try --" Harry tried -- but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander. "No, no - here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere -- I wonder, now - - yes, why not -- unusual combination -- unusual boy -- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped, the Viper hissed  _"Oh, well done, sir!",_ and Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... "

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare, as if staring into Harry's mind. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather -- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother is the reason you're apart from your family."

Harry swallowed.

Many of us, I assume, would do the same in the circumstances - if I had learned that my family had been separated from me due to a crazed murderer with a wand similar to mind, I would be lost for words.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter.... After all, He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap and the viper around his neck. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harry only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around as he fed the viper. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Harry wasn't sure he could explain. He'd just had the best birthday of his life -- and yet -- he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm destined for great things," he said at last. "Professor Quirrell, Mr Ollivander... but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? My family is  famous and I can't even remember what they're famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry -- I mean, the night it happened, the night my family let me go."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts -- I did -- still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped Harry on to the train that would take him back to the orphanage, then handed him an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September -- King's Cross -- it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the urchins, send me a letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me.... See yeh soon, Harry."

The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his nose against the window, but he blinked and Hagrid had gone.

My solemn and sad duty is to document the events of Harry Potter's life. I cannot think of any reason for you to be reading this story, unless you have been given a solemn and sad duty or are under torture. Of course, depending on whom you are, reading this story may _not_ be a sad or solemn duty and you may be under torture and enjoying it.

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Up next - Chapter Three **"The Ride To The Future" -** in which Harry makes a friend and begins his journey to Hogwarts, while a mysterious group meet in London.


	3. The Ride To The Future

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**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to J.K. Rowling. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

 **Rating:** _Teen._

 **Pairings:** _TBR_

 **Genre:** _Fantasy/Adventure_

 **Warnings:** _None yet._

 **Story Summary:** _Ten years ago the Dark Lord Voldemort met his match in the form of a young boy. Now that young boy is heading to Hogwarts, and life will never be the same._

 **Thank You:** _Thank you to xXxKaraBeckerCutterxXx for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!_

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**Chapter III: The Ride To The Future**

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September First rolled around quicker than Harry had ever expected it too. He'd walked to King's Cross Station - it wasn't that far, and he didn't want to risk any of the Urchins escaping from the Orphanage - and, if he was entirely truthful, he didn't want anyone at the orphanage seeing him frightened.

Especially as he was now lost.

He stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine and three quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Harry couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though Harry was being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said there wasn't one. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters. Harry was now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, he had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and he had no idea how to do it; he was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, a large owl and a happily snoozing viper.  
  
Hagrid must have forgotten to tell him something you had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. He wondered if he should get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten.

Then Harry was barely able to jump aside as a gaggle of gingers came skittering the length of the station; he heard the middle aged woman mention "-- packed with Muggles, of course -- You first, Percy!" - and saw the eldest, skinny, with an enormous nose and a pair of horned rimmed glasses, take off in a run towards the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten; Harry winced as the teen thundered towards the wall, expecting a smash that never came, and then gaped as the teen vanished, seemingly as if there was no wall actually there.  
  
"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.  
  
"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the teen; stocky and ginger, with a nose smaller than that of his elder brother. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"  
  
"Sorry, George, dear."  
  
"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone -- but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier; he was almost there -- and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

Now, of course, many of us say that someone "isn't anywhere" when we cannot see them, for example, you cannot see me, so I am "not anywhere" - the teen actually _was_ somewhere, but as Harry could not see the place, he was not anywhere in his vision.

"Can I help?" Harry was shaken out of his staring by a voice; a skinny, pale, brown haired boy had tapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry - you looked lost. Theodore Nott - can I help?"

"Yeah - I'm... new... to all this. How do I-?"

"Oh," the boy sneered for a minute, looking almost as if he was wiping something horrible off of him. "Are you a Muggleborn?"

"A what?" asked Harry, frowning in confusion.

"Are you parents a wizard and witch?"

"Oh," said Harry, understanding. "Yeah, they were."

The boy's disposition seemed to change and he smiled as he glanced Harry up and down for a moment. "I see," he said carefully, as if judging his words. "And you're here alone?"

"Orphan," said Harry, not wishing to go into detail.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the boy and, to his credit, he actually sounded it. "I'm here with Mama and Papa." He gestured behind him where a pale, beautiful, blonde haired woman was approaching; by her side was evidently Theodore's father. Where she was young, he was old - grey haired and thin faced, lines stretching across his forehead, beard covering his face. "Mama, Papa, this is-?" he trailed off, frowning. "Sorry, I never asked, did I?"

"Harry," said Harry. "Harry Potter."

Theodore's parents looked at one another for a moment, then his mother extended a hand. "Ariadne Nott," she said, smiling as she introduced herself. "This is my husband, Androginious."

"Pleasure," said her husband, shaking Harry's hand. "I know your father," he said, "I doubt you remember him, given your situation."

"You know I was given up?"

"I... heard it mentioned," said Androginious Nott. Harry could tell he was lying, but didn't press any further. "I assume you've never met them?"

"No," said Harry. "Not since the day I was given up. Left in a cardboard box on the doorstep of an orphanage."

"Morningside, I assume? It's the only Orphanage in the United Kingdom run by someone of magical blood. Best place for you in that situation."

"Miss Morningside is a witch?"

"A squib," said Androginious. "Someone without magical powers born to a magical family. They usually get jobs in the Muggle world. Now, you wanted to get onto the platform? That's easy. Walk between the wall of platforms nine and ten. Better do it in a bit of a run if you're nervous. Theo, why don't you show him?"

Theo adjusted his trolley and, taking off in a sprint, vanished through the wall.

I do not know about any of you, but young Theodore Nott is much braver than I, by far; even if my parents told me something was safe, if I had never seen it done before, I would never attempt it before someone else.

Following Theo through the wall, Harry found himself on a station; a massive scarlet train with a black funnel and front was billowing steam into the air.

"Come on," said Theo, heading off down the station platform. "Let's put our trunks inside and get on board. Come on, in here!" Theo gestured to an open carriage door and, with Harry's help, the two heaved their trunks into the storage compartment. "There, done!"

"Come on, Inky," said Harry, holding out a hand for the snake to slither up. "Theo - this is Inky. He's a viper - according to the pamphlet that came with him anyway..."

Inky hissed, slithering around Harry's arm and around his neck, resting himself over his shoulders.

Theo examined the viper, smiling. "Tibetan, isn't he?"

"Apparently," said Harry as he and Theo stepped onto the train. "Harmless though - even if his last owner did call him 'The Incredibly Deadly Viper'. That's where Inky comes from - Incredibly, shortened down a bit. He seems to like it, so I've kept it."

Theo smirked. "Hmm," he said. "Well, as long as he's harmless, I don't mind having one around. One of my father's associates had one back when I was a newborn. Come on, in here - this compartment's empty."

When you're on a train, if you do not shut the door to a compartment quick enough, you usually end up overhearing conversations. In this case, that is exactly what occurred as Harry shut the door to the compartment.

"Trolley's here! I'll take the lot!" said the first voice, sounding very excited, the accent sounding like it came from somewhere in London.

"No wonder you're so fat, Lance." The second voice was different - more accepting and mocking, his accent slightly Devonian.

"I'm not fat! I'm just... well padded..."

"Yeah - that's a nice way of saying fat."

"Oh, shut up, Ron. Or I'll keep all the chocolate frogs."

*******

**Westminster, London.**

"So, Harry Potter has returned to the Wizarding World? What a treat he'll be."

Androginious Nott sighed, twirling his ring around his finger and turning back from the shadows of the window, where he was watching it rain. "You'll leave him be. For now, at least, anyway. He's far too young and innocent right now to be involved in our plans. Speaking of our plans - how goes our plan to remove Minister Bagnold as Minister?"

"I have good news on that front, Sir," said Timothy Macmillan from his chair; he was reclining backwards, hands behind his head, booted feet resting on the table. "Not much work needed to be done. Bagnold announced this morning that she won't stand for re-election after the end of her term. Old age is getting to her after eleven years in power."

"Good," said a voice from the other side of the table. "All we need to do now is make sure that Fudge gets in - he's much easier to manipulate. Will your brother be a problem, Macmillan?"

"Galashiels?" asked Timothy. "Not at all; he hardly meddles in politics since he became the Earl. Besides, even if he _does_ meddle in politics, your wife has always been closer to him than I am. Why don't you ask Andina to have a word with him, Gerald?"

"I'd rather keep her away from all this; her, Sally and Zacharias. She's your sister - care more about your family."

"Enough," said Androginious. "This is not the time for arguing. It's Detective McLean that worries me."

"Allison?" asked Timothy. "Whatever for?"

"She's been investigating us," said another man from the other end of the table, where he was covered in shadow. "Your sister had my manor in Lincoln searched last week."

"Really, Harrogate?" asked Timothy. "You're the most unsuspecting of us all. Well, excluding Brighton. Speaking of - where _is_ he?"

"Trying to win over my wife," replied Harrogate. "I intend to marry Ardea to his son."

"To Cassius? The boy's as thick as horse dung."

"An unfortunate side effect that I'm sure my daughter can handle," said Harrogate, smirking. "I haven't raised her to be stupid, you know? She outshines her brother and she'll outshine whichever man she is unfortunate enough to be saddled with..."

"We're getting off topic," interrupted Androginious. "Harrogate, Smith - ask your boys to keep an eye on Harry Potter; I'll send a message to Brighton too. Macmillan, make sure that your brother does not meddle in affairs he shouldn't. Dismissed. May the Father of Understanding guide us."

 The group rose, bowed and left.

"We're still one short," said a voice from the shadows; he'd remained quiet throughout the former conversations. Androginious turned to the man; he was tall, brown haired and bearded with a ruddy face. "Our order still needs one more person to be full."

"Very true," agreed Androginious. "Keep an eye out for someone; it is your job to find our final member."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Up next - Chapter Four **"Hogwarts"** \- in which Harry unintentionally starts a fight on the Hogwarts Express, arrives at Hogwarts, shocks the Wizarding World to it's core and discovers some of his family.


	4. Hogwarts

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to J.K. Rowling. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

 **Rating:** _Teen._

 **Pairings:** _TBR_

 **Genre:** _Fantasy/Adventure_

 **Warnings:** _None yet._

 **Story Summary:** _Ten years ago the Dark Lord Voldemort met his match in the form of a young boy. Now that young boy is heading to Hogwarts, and life will never be the same._

 **Thank You:** _Thank you to xXxKaraBeckerCutterxXx for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!_

* * *

  **Chapter IV: H** **ogwarts**

* * *

Harry stared out of the window of the compartment. He'd been watching the countryside pass by for over an hour and Inky had curled himself up in a ball at the other end of the seat. As a bird crashed into a tree, he was broken from his musings by Theo speaking: "So, you never knew your family?"

"Apparently I was left in a box on the doorstep of Morningside Orphanage at the age of fifteen months," said Harry, shaking his head, "but I don't remember any of my family."

"They're famous in the Wizarding World," said Theo. "Your father is the head of the Aurors, your mother is the fifth to seventh year potions teacher, and your brother is the Boy Who Lived."

"I have a brother?" asked Harry, barely able to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"A twin, actually," said Theo. "I shouldn't know, but I overheard Mama and Papa talking about it once when I was a little boy. Papa mentioned an old newspaper article announcing your births."

"It'll be interesting meeting him."

"He'll be a Gryffindor probably - no Potter by birth has ever been in any other house."

"Where will you be?" asked Harry.

"My entire family has been in Slytherin since the founding of Hogwarts - Mama, Papa, aunt Calliope, miserable great-aunt Agatha, all of them. So, it's unlikely I'll go anywhere else. Between you and me, Papa's expecting me to go into Slytherin, but Mama said she'd be fine if I went to Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff - anywhere but Gryffindor. But I'm not a reckless, unthinking nutter, so that's not likely. Where do you think you'll go, given your family?"

"No idea," said Harry. "I know how to look after myself - it's 'be fast or starve' with the Urchins at the orphanage and I haven't kept them in line by being nice..."

A scream came from the hallway, breaking the two from their conversation. Theo threw open the door to the compartment and Harry recognised the pale blond boy from Madam's. Clutching a bloody hand, the boy was cursing blue murder at someone inside the next compartment.

Theo's eyes went wide at the cacophony occurring in the hall. "What on Earth?" he breathed.

"Inky, what are you doing?"

Inky had slid between Harry's legs and down the hallway towards the boy. The blond boy took one look at the large viper approaching him, gave an ear shattering shriek and scrambled backwards, tripping over his own feet as he stumbled backwards in abject terror. The people in the compartment next to them, Harry vaguely remembered them being male, cried out in shock and slammed the door of the compartment as Inky hissed and turned to face the compartment.

Breaking from the compartment, Harry dove, scooping Inky up into his arms. "Come on you," he said, turning back to the compartment.

"I knew there was something strange about you in Madam Malkins."

Harry froze on the spot, turning back to the boy, his face full of fury. "And I knew you were a stuck up berk, but you don't hear me saying it, do you?" he asked, allowing as much venom as possible to enter his voice.

The boy's pale face flushed. "My father _will_ hear about this," he hissed threateningly, warningly.

Harry raised an eyebrow and, in his arms, Inky gave a low rumble of contentment. "Yes, I'm sure he will. Come on, Inky. I think there's still some Gummi Bears left."

Harry had barely taken a step when a bang exploded from behind him. Something hit him in the back and, as Inky gave a noise of shock, he was thrown the length of the hallway. Inky flew from his arms and landed on the floor, hissing loudly, tail snapping, tongue wagging. Harry hit the floor with a loud crunching bang, rolled the length of a compartment, crashed against the sweets trolley and found himself upside down and staring at the blond boy through his own legs.

As Theo raced to help Harry up, Inky pounced, smashing against the boy with a hiss, sending him tumbling to the floor, arms flailing wildly.

"You alright?"

"F-ine," grunted Harry, hauling himself up and staring down the hallway. The door to the compartment next to them had opened again and, on the floor, the blond boy and Inky were rolling in a heap. As Inky was a thick as a draining pipe, the boy was losing the fight.

"Get it off me!" the boy shrieked up to his two large bodyguard companions. The two boys, fat and seemingly as stupid as dirt, just backed away.

"Inky!" snapped Harry. "Stop it!"

The snake hissed and uncoiled itself from the boy, who's face was now going blue, raised itself up, hissed angrily down at him, and slinked back to Harry, sliding up his leg and onto his back, where it hung, loosely, on either side of his neck, rumbling gently.

"Just what is going on out here!?" came a voice and the ginger that Harry had seen from the station was approaching, chest puffed out, silver badge gleaming on his chest.

"Inside, Harry," said Theo, "I'll deal with this."

"That's my brother, Percy," Harry heard one of the people from the compartment next to him say. The other person's reply was too quiet for him to hear.

"Where were you five minutes ago?" snapped Theo and, for a moment, Harry could see a truly aristocratic bearing to him. "In the last five minutes my friend has been thrown the length of the hall and attacked."

"I was attacked by that thing!" cried the blond boy pointing at Inky.

"Oh, do shut up, Malfoy," snapped Theo, idly brushing him off, voice full of venom. "Nobody cares what you think. That's why your Grandfather returned from France to take his place on the Wizengamot - because nobody cares about your opinion. Or your father's, for that matter."

"Why, you-!"

Malfoy's wand came up. Theo whirled around and ducked just in time. Malfoy's spell soared over his head and Percy blasted it away with a shield charm.

"Mr Malfoy, we do not-!"

Percy's words were cut off by a shout from Theo: _"FULMINATIA!"_

The spell exploded from the end of Theo's wand with a flicker of purple and an earth shaking bang; Theo was knocked backwards by the force of it and Malfoy wasn't able to duck in time. The spell crashed against his chest and he was thrown into the air, launched the length of the hallway and smashed, hard, to the floor at the other end.

Breathing heavily, Theo allowed himself to be dragged back into the compartment by Harry.

"I suggest you all get changed," said Percy, snootily. "We'll be arriving at Hogwarts in ten minutes."

 ***

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"  
  
Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads and Harry waved back, leading Theo towards the shining light of Hagrid's lamp.  
  
"C'mon, follow me -- any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. A plump blonde boy sniffed once or twice and slipped over on at least three occasions.  
  
"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."  
  
There was a loud "Oooooh!"  
  
The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.  
  
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore, "unless yeh weigh more'n seven'y pounds, in which case no more'n two!"

Harry and Theo were followed into their boat by a two tall, skinny black boys. As they did so, Harry felt Inky slide from his neck and begin swimming across the lake.  
  
"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then -- _FORWARD!"_  
  
And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads - except for the plump blond boy who cried "Ow!" as his head hit the edge of the cliff and a plump ginger boy had to stop him from falling in - and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.  
  
"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them. He missed Inky slithering up the wall behind him and in through an open window.  
  
"Trevor!" cried the plump blond blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.  
  
They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.  
  
"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"  
  
Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door. The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.  
  
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.  
  
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."  
  
She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the orphanage in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.  
  
They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right -- the rest of the school must already be here -- but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."  
  
Her eyes lingered for a moment on the plump boy's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on the big nosed ginger's nose, which was smudged. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair. Harry saw Theo checking himself to make sure everything was perfect.  
  
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.  
  
"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Theo.  
  
"Some sort of test, I think. Papa didn't tell me - said he wanted me to be surprised."  
  
Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic yet -- what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except a snooty looking girl with brown hair so bushy that it would have made a lion ask for a haircut, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd gotten in trouble for punching the Urchins who were bullying other orphans. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.  
  
Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air -- several people behind him screamed; the long nosed ginger nearly fell over.  
  
"What the -- ?"  
  
He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance--"

"Leave Peeves to me, Friar," said a ghost draped in chains. His voice was deep and baritone. " _I_ will talk with him. And, if that doesn't work, I'll set The Grey Lady on him. You know what she's like when her reading is interrupted. Remember last Halloween when Peeves decided to blow up all the cauldrons in the dungeons?"

The Fat Friar, a ghost wearing ruff and tights, and the ghost draped in chains all simultaneously shuddered as if repressing a memory.

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?" asked the ruffed ghost. "He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost -- I say, _what are you all doing here?_ "  
  
The ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years. The Fat Friar and the ghost in chains stopped mid conversation and stared. When nobody answered, the Fat Friar smiled around at them and exclaimed: "New students! About to be Sorted, I suppose?"  
  
A few people nodded mutely.

"Ah, lovely, so what do we have this year?" said the ghost in chains, who was flitting amongst the group, staring down at them as if to place them. He stopped for a moment in front of Malfoy, looked back to the other two ghosts, rolled his eyes, and then moved on, muttering: "does that family ever die out?"  
  
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said The Fat Friar. "My old house, you know."  
  
"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Professor McGonagall had returned.

One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall. The ghost in chains seemed to linger the longest, eyeing several students. Moments later, what seemed to be the robed hand of The Fat Friar came back through the wall, grasped one of the chains and pulled him through the wall.  
  
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.  
  
Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver - The Fat Friar waved and a haughty looking woman, presumably The Grey Lady the ghost in chains had mentioned, was floating behind a table, barely glancing over the top of a book. Mainly to avoid all the frightened eyes staring around the room, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard the snooty girl whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."  
  
It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.  
  
Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. The Urchins would have adored it.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing -- noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:  
  
_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_  
  
_But don't judge on what you see,_  
  
_I'll eat myself if you can find_  
  
_A smarter hat than me._  
  
_You can keep your bowlers black,_  
  
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_  
  
_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_  
  
_And I can cap them all._  
  
_There's nothing hidden in your head_  
  
_The Sorting Hat can't see,_  
  
_So try me on and I will tell you_  
  
_Where you ought to be._  
  
_You might belong in Gryffindor,_  
  
_Where dwell the brave at heart,_  
  
_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_  
  
_Set Gryffindors apart;_  
  
_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_  
  
_Where they are just and loyal,_  
  
_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_  
  
_And unafraid of toil;_  
  
_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,_  
  
_Where those of wit and learning,_  
  
_Will always find their kind;_  
  
_Or perhaps in Slytherin_  
  
_You'll make your real friends,_  
  
_Those cunning folk use any means_  
  
_To achieve their ends._  
  
_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_  
  
_And don't get in a flap!_  
  
_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_  
  
_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_  
  
The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.  
  
"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Theo whispered to Harry. "I'll kill great-aunt Agatha - she was going on about a duel!"  
  
Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.  
  
Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.  
  
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"  
  
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause -- "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her as he danced happily on the spot.  
  
"Bones, Susan!"  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah. The Friar was bouncing in glee.  
  
"Boot, Terry!"  
  
"RAVENCLAW!"  
  
The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them. The Grey Lady lowered her book and gave the boy a deep bow as he took his seat, then raised the book again.  
  
"Black, Julius," went to Gryffindor, "Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw and The Grey Lady repeated her curtsey, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new female Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Percy's ginger twin brothers, Fred and George if he remembered rightly from the station, catcalling and the ghost in a ruff welcomed her happily.  
  
"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Harry's imagination was beginning to play tricks on him as he thought he saw all the ghosts stare at him for a moment and he was starting to feel definitely sick now.

He'd missed several names as Professor McGonagall called: "Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.  
  
"Granger, Hermione!"  
  
 The snooty girl almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. The big nosed ginger groaned and Harry decided he was definitely not a nice person.  
  
A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

"Greengrass, Charles" went to Ravenclaw while his sister "Greengrass, Daphne" went to Slytherin as did "Lestrange, Torian," a pale, dark haired boy who followed them in the names.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."  
  
Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"  
  
Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.  
  
There weren't many people left now. "Moon"..., "Nott"..., "Parkinson"..., then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"..., then "Perks, Sally-Anne"..., and then, at last --  
  
"Potter, Harry!"  
  
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"  
  
"The Boy Who Lived has a brother?"

"Where's he been all these years?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him and the plump ginger boy staring at him in shock. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Oooh," said a small voice in his ear, almost as if it couldn't believe the head underneath it. "You're an interesting one. But difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes -- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, _Wherever I belong, wherever I belong_.  
  
"Wherever you belong, eh?" said the small voice, entirely full of glee. "Oh, you're going to be good here at Hogwarts, Mr Potter; I can see it all, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that -- well, if you're sure you want to go where you belong -- better be SLYTHERIN!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and the hall fell silent; the ghost in chains dropped them, causing them to crash to the floor with a loud metallic clank, The Grey Lady dropped her book, the ghost wearing a ruff gasped and jumped in shock, his head falling to one side, The Fat Friar fell over in shock.

"No way!" breathed a voice from the hall. "A Potter? In Slytherin? That's unheard of... he must be really dark."

The Grey Lady had apparently recovered as she whacked the student across the back of the head with her book and glanced across at the ghost in chains, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

Harry, now definitely aware of all the eyes staring at him, sat down opposite the ghost in chains. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water. Theo thumped him happily on the arm, grinning.  
   
He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him an awkward thumbs up. Harry grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the day they'd met at the orphanage. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban. A beautiful ginger woman was staring across at the Slytherin table, watching Harry closely.

And now there were only eight people left to be sorted. "Potter, Lancelot", the plump ginger boy Harry had seen, went to Gryffindor, and Harry couldn't help but stare at the person who was apparently his brother; "Rosier, Evan" and his twin "Rosier, Juan" went to Slytherin, "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than the gangly ginger boy, joined Lancelot at the Gryffindor table; "Thrushburry, Charles," went to Ravenclaw, as did "Turpin, Lisa," and then it was the gangly ginger's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and prayed "not Slytherin", and a second later his wish was granted as the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
 Lancelot clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.  
  
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy pompously across Lancelot as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The small breakfast of porridge he'd had for breakfast this morning seemed so long ago and the Gummi Bears he'd brought with him hadn't lasted long on the train.  
  
Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.  
  
"Welcome," he said, voice genial. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"  
  
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered and Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.  
  
"Is he -- a bit mad?" he asked Theo uncertainly.  
  
"Mad?" said Theo airily, reaching for a bowl nearby. "He's a genius, even if he is fond of Muggles, and he's one of the best wizards in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.  
   
He'd never exactly been starved at the orphanage, but he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.  
  
"That does look good," said the ghost in chains sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.  
  
"Can't you -- ?"  
  
"I haven't eaten for nearly a thousand years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, I am dead and have no use for food, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? The Bloody Baron at your service. Resident ghost of the Slytherin Dungeon."

"Pleasure," said Harry. "Your - bloodliness? - your grace?"

The ghost smirked. "Your bloodliness," he said, trying out the name. "I like that. Peeves will certainly be frightened of it."

"Peeves?" asked Theo, interjecting into the conversation.

"A rather bothersome annoyance," muttered the Baron. "Keep away from him if you can. I remember once, many years ago, back when I was a boy - we had a boy here who ran afoul of Peeves. I remember he ended up firing a spell at Peeves; _un_ fortunately, Peeves isn't solid and the spell went right through him, killed a boy the other end. Never forgot him - Guillermo Nott, first of the family to come over from Spain. Your ancestor, I believe - Theodore, wasn't it?"

Theo blushed. "Yes, it is."

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...  
  
As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families and The Bloody Baron continued his inquiring into Theo's family. "How is your father? He and your aunt were always a wonderful addition to this house."

"Papa is well and aunt Calliope lives in France now - widowed shortly before I was born."

"And your mother?"

Theo's face darkened for a moment. "She puts on a brave face - thinks I don't know - Horatio and Bertie are too young and it's been kept from them - I'm not even supposed to know - I overheard her and Papa - it's only a matter of time -"

"Poor woman," said the Baron sadly; his chains rattled a little. "She was a nice girl; always smiling, often ill though, even then..." he seemed to sigh. "Give her my regards when you next write to her, won't you?"

"Of course," replied Theo.

"Who are they?" asked Harry, glancing across the table at the pug-faced girl and the tall, dark haired, black boy who looked incredibly haughty.

"Parkinson and Zabini," said Theo. "Pansy and Blaise. Pansy's brother is a fourth year - the tall boy at the end, there." Theo pointed down the table to the boy opposite Pansy, who was laughing with a group of Slytherins. "Pure-blood as they come, much like Zabini and I. Zabini's mother's been married seven times; all dead, all in 'suspicious' circumstances. Daphne comes from a very old, rich family. Torian Lestrange has been raised by his mother's mother as both his parents are in prison - and, probably, mad. The Rosiers are as Pure-blooded as can be. Millicent Bulstrode - that's her, there, opposite Zabini - is a bit of an odd one. She's been raised by her grandmother because her father murdered her mother for not giving him a son. He's in prison now."

Harry grimaced. "Why didn't he just get a divorce?"

"Everyone says he just lost it... wasn't thinking straight..."

"And your mother, Potter - that's her over there," said the Baron, interrupting. "Small woman, red hair. Teaches fifth to seventh year potions." The Baron pointed to the teacher's table and Harry turned, finally being able to place a face to his mother.

"How long has she been teaching here?"

"Must be a decade now," said the Baron. "Shortly after you and your brother survived that broo-hah with You-Know-Who."

"I see," said Harry, glancing from the high table across to the Gryffindor table, where Lancelot was scooping a large lump of ice-cream into a bowl in front of him; several bowls lay discarded by his side and he burped loudly, patting his rather considerable midsection. "How long has he been so... horizontally endowed?"

Theo shrugged. "I remember seeing him in the Daily Prophet once when I was four, and he was already rather plump then..."

"What was he doing in the paper at age four?"

"Some interview about being the Boy Who Lived. Rita Skeeter wrote it so it is, as my great-aunt Agatha says, 'a complete and utter load of bollocks'."

"Gods, she's not still alive is she?" asked the Baron. "Horrible woman, even as a girl."

"Unfortunately," said Theo, uncomfortably. "We've been praying for her to die for years... she's a hundred and four now."

On Harry's other side, Pansy Parkinson and her brother were talking about lessons ("I do hope they start right away, Phineas, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult -- "; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing -- ").

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin, who was trying to ignore him. His mother was ignoring the teacher with greasy hair and was having an animated conversation with an exceptionally old, tiny man.  
  
It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes -- and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.  
  
"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.  
  
"What is it?" asked Theo.  
  
"N-nothing."  
  
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look -- a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.  
  
"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell? He's the one in the turban?" he asked Theo.

Theo glanced up to the teacher's table. "Oh, that's Professor Snape - Papa told me - he's our Head of House - everyone says he's evil, but he seems to favour us. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to -- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts."  
   
Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.

At last, after Lancelot had finished his ninth bowl of ice-cream and finally looked sick, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.  
  
"Ahem -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."  
  
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.  
  
"He's not serious?" he muttered to Theo.  
  
"Must be," said a fifth year girl from slightly further down, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere -- the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."  
  
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed, especially his mother's.  
  
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.  
  
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"  
  
And the school bellowed:  
  
_"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_  
  
_Teach us something please,_  
  
_Whether we be old and bald_  
  
_Or young with scabby knees,_  
  
_Our heads could do with filling_  
  
_With some interesting stuff,_  
  
_For now they're bare and full of air,_  
  
_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_  
  
_So teach us things worth knowing,_  
  
_Bring back what we've forgot, just do your best, we'll do the rest,_  
  
_And learn until our brains all rot."_  
  
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.  
  
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years got up and followed the prefect through the chattering crowds; Harry briefly caught sight of his brother cradling his bulging paunch and, as they passed, he belched as Ron accidentally elbowed him in the stomach. While the Gryffindors went up the marble staircase, the Slytherins went through the Entrance Hall again and down a circling, winding staircase into the dungeons. They followed her along the corridor to another winding set of stairs and then came face to face with a blank brick wall.

"This is the entrance to the Common Room," she said, turning to face them. "The password to the common room changes every fortnight, and is posted on the noticeboard, so don't forget it. The password right now is 'Pure-bloods are supreme'." Behind her, the brick wall opened up into a hole; she ushered them all through and then entered herself.

Harry could barely believe his eyes as they had emerged into a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains; the atmosphere was grand, but cold. Extending partway under the lake, the room was bathed in green and seaweed was blowing in the current outside the windows. Ahead of them was an elaborately carved mantelpiece under which a fire was burning. The mantelpiece was surrounded by three low backed black and dark green, button-tufted, leather sofas and several chairs designed the same way. Large tapestries hung from the walls and ceiling, featuring the adventures of famous Medieval Slytherins.

"Welcome to Slytherin," said the prefect, turning to face them. "I am Gemma Farley, fifth year prefect. I won't keep you long, nor will I give you a long speech tonight - I shall leave that to Professor Snape tomorrow. For now, it's time for you all to go to bed or spend some time in the Common Room if you wish. The dormitories are through there," she pointed to an open hole in the corner of the room, which led to a corridor. "The boys' dormitories are down the right corridor - each room is labelled with a number and you sleep in the one with the same number as your year - and the girls dormitories are down the left corridor and the same rules apply. Each dormitory room has a portrait with a password that must be spoken to allow entry. For tonight, we have labelled it on a piece of parchment for you. So, for now, I'll leave you. "

She left them and the group dispersed. Yawning, and noticing Theo doing the same, Harry plodded off to the dormitory - a circular room with a low ceiling, boiler in the middle, and nine curtained beds in a circle around the room; a portrait of a big eared teenage male in a desert was hanging above the doorway. Quickly reading the parchment, Harry glanced up to the portrait. "Always pure and powerful," he said. The teen smiled and the door beneath him swung open, allowing Harry and Theo entrance. Their trunks had already been brought up; Inky was curled up on the top of his trunk and Hedwig was sleeping gently in her cage with her head under her wing.

Entering, both picked a bed, Harry opposite the door and Theo on his left, and began changing for bed; Theo, Harry noticed, glancing over at his friend, was very slim, but a faint layer of muscle covered his frame. Entirely different to his own boney physique. As they climbed into their beds, Harry heard the door open and a huffing, gasping wheeze echoed; one of Draco's lackeys, Crabbe, came waddling in and trudged over to the bed on Harry's right, onto which he sat heavily, wheezing for breath, cradling his big round belly. The bed creaked and cracked under him, a small split appearing in the woodwork, as Crabbe's breath began returning to normal and he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"Are you alright?" asked Harry.

"Fine," grunted Crabbe, his thick sausage fingers rubbing his swollen bloated midsection. "Too full." He gave a large belch and then hauled himself to his feet and began changing for bed. As he stripped down to his underwear, ready to put his pyjamas on, Harry saw just how fat Crabbe was as everything seemed to expand when he was unclothed, as if he'd been constricted inside them; his stomach swelled out in front of him in a massive swollen ball, as if he had swallowed a beachball, and some faint pink lines were darting their way up his sides. Everything strained as he reached for his pyjamas and, buttons straining and bulging, fastened the shirt around his stomach and began fighting with the trousers.

"Give it up, Crabbe," said Malfoy, entering the room. "There's no chance - you're a massive fat pig - and you'll just break everything."

"Lay off him," said Theo, glancing across pitifully at Crabbe, who was now laying back on the creaking bed trying to fasten his pyjama trousers around his massive stomach. "You think he doesn't know that already? You don't need to tell him."

Draco just scoffed and rolled his eyes and then chose his own bed, leaving the remaining five for Evan, Juan, Goyle, Torian and Blaise. As Theo and Draco began arguing, Harry yawned and felt himself drifting off.

* * *

Next time - Chapter Five: **"Aconite In The Air** **" -** in which Potions class arrives, Harry and Lancelot formally meet, and the first Flying Lesson occurs, with disastrous consequences.


End file.
